‘Crew, you look like you’re about to pee your pants,’ sneered Bugwart, blocking his path.
‘No, I’m about to throw up actually so if you don’t want to get puked on, I’d get outta the way.’ As soon as he had uttered these words, he realised that he was indeed about to throw up. Looking at him, Vapona could also see that this was in fact more than likely and immediately stepped to one side as Clancy made a dash for the restroom.
When Clancy finally made it to music class, everyone else was already in their places. Ruby, who was on xylophone, was sitting on the other side of the room from Clancy who was to be on kettledrum. She could see his face, all scrunched up with anxiety, and it was pretty obvious what he was thinking about.
Ruby tapped out a message in Morse code*:
-.-. .-.. .- -. -.-. -.-- --..-- / -.-. .... .. .-.. .-.. / --- ..- - / -- .- -. --..-- /
-.-- --- ..- / .-.. --- --- -.- / .-.. .. -.- . / -.-- --- ..- .----. .-. . / .- -... --- ..- - /
- --- / -.. .. .
Clancy looked up. He knew right away what she was saying and his reply was this:
- .... .- - .----. ... / -.-. --- ... / .. / .- -- / .- -... --- ..- - / - --- / -.. .. . --..-- /
- .... .. ... / ... .- - ..- .-. -.. .- -.-- / -- --- .-. -. .. -. --.
So Ruby tapped out another which went:
- .... . .-. . / .- .-. . / -. --- / ... .... .- .-. -.- ... / .. -. / - .-- .. -. ..-. --- .-. -.. /
-... .- -.--
And in return got this back from Clancy:
.--. .-. --- ...- . / .. -
Boy, was he ever the most stubborn kid she had ever met.
Mrs Courtenay-Clack rapped her conductor’s baton crossly on the side of her music stand.
‘When you are quite ready Ruby, Clancy – we are all waiting.’
Ruby looked around the room – it was true: everyone was waiting for her to lead into this rather modern piece by Fenton Schrieber.
She picked up her stick and banged out what were meant to be the first few notes of Elastic Movement in G, but was in fact another message for Clancy.
--. . . --.. --..-- / - .... . -.-- / -.-. .- .-.. .-.. / - .... .. ... / -- ..- ... .. -.-. ..--..
He smiled.
The teacher rapped her baton again.
‘Ms Redfort, will you please get with the programme!’
‘Sorry Mrs Courtenay-Clack,’ said Ruby, pretending to leaf through her music score. ‘I think I skipped a page.’
THAT TUESDAY AFTERNOON WAS MARKED by another Twinford Junior High swimming-related event. It seemed someone (probably Dillon Flannagon) had thought it would be amusing to dress a mannequin in the school mascot costume (a squirrel suit) and place it in the pool. The janitor got quite a shock when he saw a giant squirrel in the Twinford Junior High strip floating face-down in the water.
On a board drifting next to this unusual scene, the culprit (surely Dillon Flannagon, it really looked like his handwriting) had written in huge letters, ‘another Twinford Bay casualty’. To make matters worse, the blue paint (believed to be toxic) that the giant sign was written in was dissolving into the pool water – this made it a health and safety concern and therefore the pool would have to be drained.
Principal Levine had not seen the funny side. Whoever it was, was really for it. When Ruby passed Dillon in the corridor, she whispered, ‘Run Flannagon, run.’
After class, Ruby and Clancy fetched their bikes and wheeled them out of the gates and along the sidewalk. Clancy didn’t have the energy to cycle – he was too depressed.
‘Oh brother! What am I going to do now? There’s no way I’m getting in that bay, no way.’
‘I’ll look out for you Clance,’ said Ruby.
‘Oh yeah?’ said Clancy. ‘There are gonna be like a hundred kids all swimming out there in the bay. No way you can keep an eye on me the whole time.’
Ruby looked at him hard. ‘You can do this Clance. It’s just mind over matter is all.’
‘That’s easy for you to say,’ grumbled Clancy. ‘The water doesn’t bother you – nothing bothers you.’
This wasn’t true of course – it was just that Ruby had spent a whole lot more time thinking about this stuff. She had a notebook full of rules and one of them was RULE 12: ADJUST YOUR THINKING AND YOUR CHANCES IMPROVE. She had learned this from Mrs Digby, a wise old buzzard if ever there was one.
‘All I’m saying Clance is your chances are better if you go into it in the right frame of mind.’
‘Don’t you get it Rube? My chances are a whole lot better if I never get in that ocean in the first place. My chances of having a heart attack are greatly reduced if I don’t even get my feet wet.’
Ruby gave him a reassuring pat on the back. ‘Your chances of suffering a lifetime of grief from Coach Newhart increase by about a thousand per cent if you don’t.’
‘I know,’ sighed Clancy mournfully.
‘Come on, let’s go get a fruit shake,’ said Ruby, pulling him towards the Cherry Cup. ‘On me.’
When they got to the Cherry Cup, they took the high stools at the bar and Ruby reached for the long drinks menu. Clancy was swivelling his seat distractedly and muttering to himself.
‘Hey there you guys, what can I get you?’ called Cherry.
‘I’ll take a Strawberry–Pineapple-Fiesta and I reckon Clance could do with a tranquilliser.’
Cherry looked hard at Clancy. ‘You all right pal?’ he enquired kindly. ‘You look kinda strung out.’
Cherry was a man in his late fifties – greying hair and the sort of face that made people want to confide in him.
Clancy spilled the beans about the swimathon while Cherry blended fruit.
Meanwhile, Ruby thought about Spectrum. She was thinking about the briefing. Is there a connection? Is there something in the deep blue ocean causing disruption to sealife? Possibly. Could it be caused by the moon, the tides, an earthquake on the other side of the world even? Possibly.
But the shipping confusion? That has to be man-made. The question is, is it man-made by accident or man-made by design? If it isn’t an accident, then one can only conclude it has to be sinister.
She was jolted from her musings by Clancy.
‘So have you been into Spectrum yet?’
‘Could you keep your voice down buster? I’m not supposed to talk about this stuff,’ hissed Ruby.
Clancy looked around. ‘No one’s listening,’ he said, pointing at Cherry’s busy establishment. Everyone was chatting or engrossed in their magazines or menus.
‘That’s what you think,’ said Ruby. ‘How do you know that woman over there, the one with the little curly kid, isn’t keeping track of everything we say?’
‘I can tell,’ said Clancy. ‘I mean look at her, all she’s interested in is her baby.’
‘That’s how much you know,’ said Ruby. ‘I happen to be aware that she is a sector seven agent and that old curly top is just a cover.’
Clancy’s